


Ruling in Times of Pestilence

by devilinthedetails



Category: PIERCE Tamora - Works, Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Challenges of Ruling, Drama, F/M, Family, Gen, Pestilence, Plague, Sweating Sickness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:22:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24773077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/devilinthedetails/pseuds/devilinthedetails
Summary: Roald struggles to rule as the Sweating Sickness ravages his realm
Relationships: Lianne I of Conté/Roald I of Conté
Kudos: 9





	Ruling in Times of Pestilence

Ruling in Times of Pestilence 

“I can confirm that the Sweating Sickness is spreading through Corus.” Duke Baird, chief of Roald’s healers, tapped a forefinger against a pile of reports compiled by healers in the realm’s capital. “It’s most vicious in targeting the elderly and the sickly, but the young and the healthy are by no means immune to this cruel pestilence.” 

Roald, hearing this, swallowed a stony lump in his throat. His wife, his beloved Lianne, had ever been frail and surely could be counted among the sickly. He clutched the mahogany council table to have something solid to hold onto in a world that seemed to be crumbling around him as Baird went on with a steadiness Roald envied, “Thus far, there have been no confirmed cases of Sweating Sickness in Port Caynn, Port Legann, or any of the realm’s other major cities and ports.” 

“Port Legann I understand as it is far to the south of us.” Roald tapped his fingers on the table, a drumbeat of consternation as he sought to comprehend this unfathomable plague that had been unleashed on his capital city. “However, Port Caynn is a stone throw away from us and in constant trade with us. How is it possible that they’ve not been inflicted with the same dreadful disease? Isn’t there something unnatural about them being spared this horror?” 

“The gods, in their mercy, have bestowed on us a great gift. I suggest we not waste time wondering why it was sent, Your Majesty.” Duke Gareth’s tone was the crisp one his brother-in-law adopted whenever he thought Roald wasn’t acting with sufficient speed and decisiveness. 

Roald bit back bitter words about how hard it was to have any belief in the mercy of the gods with a pestilence raging through Corus with no sign of abating and instead asked, weary with a worry for his realm that threatened to paralyze him into inaction, “What do you suggest, Your Grace?” 

“I suggest we implement a quarantine around Corus to prevent the spread of pestilence,” Duke Gareth answered with a very matter-of-fact air. 

“The citizens of Corus will curse me in the streets if I do that.” Roald pinched his forehead, feeling the warning signs of an impending migraine. No doubt, he thought miserably, the people of Corus were already muttering and whispering to themselves about how this plague was an ominous omen that he had lost divine favor, but if he implemented such a quarantine, such mutinous mumbles would likely threaten to spill over into outright revolt. The last thing his kingdom needed right now was more chaos and fuel added to the inferno that appeared about to consume it. Yet, if he didn’t act to control the spread of the pestilence, he would surely be blamed when it ravaged the realm without mercy. Ruling was never so easy as the commoners who questioned him assumed…

“Better to be cursed in the streets than to have the realm overrun by the plague,” replied Duke Gareth with the brutal practicality that made him such an indispensable advisor. 

“I suppose so,” Roald conceded the point and with it surrendered the argument, massaging his aching temples as a migraine overwhelmed him. “Very well. We’ll implement the quarantine.” Glancing at Duke Baird and very much hoping for a response in the negative, “Do you have any other reports regarding the pestilence for me?” 

The gods were not benevolent once again, because Duke Baird informed him grimly, “You should know that healers are finding their strength and magic drained by this Sweating Sickness in a strange way. In healing a patient, a healer often finds his own strength and magic sapped so that he cannot heal another patient.” 

“Is this a common trait of the Sweating Sickness?” Roald asked. The Sweating Sickness hadn’t hit the realm in centuries, so Roald wasn’t well-read on its symptoms because he had always hoped it would never strike his realm during his reign. He would have to rectify that ignorance with some research soon, he told himself, adding to a mental and ever-expanding list of tasks of that never seemed to get completed due to lack of time. 

“Not in any old records that I’ve come across.” Duke Baird gave a weary shake of his head. 

“That’s strange isn’t it?” Roald’s forehead wrinkled, and, a heartbeat later, he regretted the expression when it sent splitting pain through his head.

“Not necessarily. The disease hasn’t been seen in these parts for centuries.” Duke Baird sighed. “Diseases often change shape to become more effective killers like a swordsman who modifies his form to become a deadlier foe.” 

To Roald’s ears, that sounded like the most terrifying thing he could possibly have heard. Determined to find some understanding of this deadly disease, he ordered a servant to fetch him a large stack of books on the Sweating Sickness from the royal library and sat in his study reading them by flickering candlelight late into the night after a sparser than usual supper in the Great Hall. His nose was buried in a dusty tome describing in ghastly detail how a terrible outbreak of the Sweating Sickness that had left one of every two people a festering corpse in a mass grave had been a contributing factor to the collapse of the Empire of the Old Ones, when Lianne intruded on his disquieting research in a swish of slippers and embroidered dressing gown. 

“Do you think this Sweating Sickness will be the downfall of my kingdom as it was the undoing of the Empire of the Old Ones?” Roald leaned into the soft warmth of Lianne’s embrace as his wife enfolded him in her loving arms. 

“No, my dear husband.” Lianne pressed a tender kiss into his aching forehead. “The realm has survived outbreaks of the pestilence in the past and will this time. We will survive this horror together, drawing strength and courage from each other. You must have faith that this will be so. That is how you will lead our people through these troubled times.” 

“Thank the gods for you, Lianne.” Not for the first time, Roald marveled at how his wife’s external frailty could be offset with so much internal strength. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.” 

“You’ll never be without me.” Lianne nestled her head into the curve of his shoulder. “I’ll be with you forever. Now abandon those dusty books before they give you a nasty cough and come to bed with me.” 

“With pleasure.” Roald rose from his chair, took Lianne’s fingers between his, and lifted them to his lips for a lingering kiss as he escorted her to their bed.


End file.
